The Sellsword King
by The Masked Mummer
Summary: ASOIAF AU FIC. When Robert Baratheon finds his love Lyanna dead, he forsakes the Iron Throne and sails to the Free Cities, forming the most feared sellsword company in Essos. All the while, he searches for the Last Targaryens to exact the last measure of his revenge.
1. Chapter 1

Robert of the House Baratheon, First of the Name, King of the Andals, and the First Men, and the Rhoynar, stared down at the woman who would have been his bride. _Who would have been his queen._ "Damnit." He swore softly. His dear friend Ned stark stood over Lyana's corpse as well, as cold as an ice statue. Robert wanted to rage, to lash out at him for failing to bring his beloved back to him alive. But he could not. _I lost my love, Ned lost his sister. Damn you Rhaegar. Damn you to all Seven Hells. I hope you burn forever for doing this to me. No. I wish you were alive, so I could smash in your ribs again, and again and again._

"I went to war for her," he said softly. Brokenly. "We both did," Ned replied, voice thick with grief. There was nothing left to say. Robert slowly closed the casket over her once bright, beautiful face. "Take care of her, Ned." He looked over to his friend, and saw that tears were flowing down his face. "I shall. She made me promise it… as she died." Ned and Robert were both overcome with grief.

Robert cast his eyes to his left, to the great, ugly Iron Throne that he had won. It was a massive black, twisted thing. Forged from a thousand sword blades surrendered to Aegon the Conqueror, the first Targaryen king. The throne he had won, with the help of Ned, and Jon Arryn, and Hoster Tully. Even the calculating bastard Tywin Lannister had helped his secure that throne. Robert was acutely aware of the weight of the crown sitting atop his head. He turned and began to walk out of the Throne Room. "Your Grace," Jon Arryn began, but Robert cut him off. "Fuck your grace." He turned to the Iron Throne. "Fuck the Throne." He lifted a hand up to the crown, and lifted it from his head in a clenched fist. "And fuck the king." Robert threw the crown against the pillars. It bounced, then rolled across the floor in a great cacophony. "I wanted her!" he shouted, pointing desperately at the coffin. "I don't want the throne."

Robert continued out of the room. "What are we to do then, Robert?" Jon asked calmly, specifically avoiding using his title. "Find some poor fool who wants the damnable thing, and is worthy to have it. If such a man exists, make sure to thank him for me. I'm no king." He continued out of the door. "Where are you going then?" Ned asked.

"To the Free Cities. To war and whore myself across the old Freehold, see if I can find those escaped Targaryens. Any of the soldiers who want to follow me can, but I wait for no man. "

"The Sellsword King, the singers will love it."


	2. King's Company

Robert smashed his warhammer against the helm of a Braavosi sellsword. The man's helm caved in from the force of the blow and Robert rode on, laughing. His black war horse was outfitted in armor to match Robert's own, with it's own crown and antlers to make it appear like the Baratheon stag. Beside him rode the knights of the King's Company, the sellsword band he had formed on his arrival to Essos. Hedge knights, disinherited sons of the greater and lesser houses of Westeros, the fiercest fighters the Free Cities had to offer, and a core of loyal men who had come with him from the Seven Kingdoms.

The King's company was fighting in the Disputed Lands between Myr, Tyrosh and Lys. Each of the Free Cities claimed the land, and so warred over it endlessly, hiring sellswords to kill and die for them. A damn near pointless war, Robert thought, but a sellsword doesn't argue with his source of income. Besides, a sellsword company needed to earn it's reputation before it could fight in grander battles. After over a dozen years smashing heads of Lysene and Tyroshi, however, the King's Company, as they were known to their friends, had become spoken of in a tone usually reserved for the Golden Company. Robert wasn't at their level. Yet.

Their enemies scattered under the cavalry charge, and Robert laid about with his hammer, crushing skulls and breaking backs. This was what he had been made for, to fight and kill. He could never have been king. It would have driven him mad. Jon Arryn had suggested he marry Cersei Lannister in order to cement his position with lord Tywin. Robert doubted that he would have lived any longer if he had married the golden bitch and sat the Iron Throne than if he stayed here fighting for a living.

A brave mounted sellsword charged directly for Robert, swinging a fierce curved sword. No doubt he wanted the recognition of killing the Sellsword King, the Dragonslayer. Well, he wasn't going to indulge the lad. His hammer struck the sellsword full in the chest, buckling his breastplate and throwing him from the saddle. Robert shouted a war cry and raised the hammer above his head. Shouts went up from his knights and followers. "All hail Robert, King of the Sellswords!" He grinned. The day was theirs.


End file.
